


Tis a Curious Thing

by deathwailart



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/M, Morrigan's Unborn Old God Baby, Ships that should not happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 03:13:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shifts of fortune test the reliability of friends - Marcus T Cicero</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tis a Curious Thing

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea why I wrote this but I'm not going to lie, I'm very intrigued by the idea of Loki and Morrigan even meeting. This story has a lot of handwaved worldbending and mentions of Norse mythology with reference to Loki. Takes place after Dragon Age: Origins ends but before the Witch Hunt DLC and for Thor, after Loki falls but before the post credits scene.

He falls. It is as he wished, to let go, to let his body plummet through the air until there is a glimmer of silver, a high hum that resonates through his being before he comes to a stop in a world not his but a world that thrums with the pulse of magic. It is night, fitting enough, he supposes, winter in this land.

He feels very much alone. Not even a weapon, just the clothing upon his back, a deep ache from where Mjolnir pinned him, Thor's anguished shouts, Odin's face as he gripped Gungnir, his side and his foundling monster, polished metal the last he felt as he slipped. But there is someone on the horizon, a slender figure, loose grey cloak about her head and some strange clothing reminiscent of the people of old.

He knows her immediately. Witch of the Korcari Wilds. Daughter of Flemeth. Oh the legends of Flemeth, of Conobar and Osen and of her monstrous daughters who kill with fear. But this one is not a monster. This is Morrigan. He smiles and tries to set rights to himself. Witches of the Wilds have such sharp tongues or so the tomes had said, the ancient tomes he had surrounded himself with, tales beyond Yggdrasil.

"Morrigan," he says quietly, as he meets the yellow eyes in the darkness. "This is not Thedas."  
  
"Tis not Asgard either, Loki Liesmith," she greets, her robes, if they can be called that, baring more skin than is practical. If Thor- he cuts himself off. It will not serve him well, to dwell on thoughts of his brother as she approaches, her mouth curving into the smirk of someone who is wise, someone with secrets. "I expected a more eloquent greeting from the trickster with the silver tongue.  
  
"Asha'bellanar has taught you well," he replies as he closes the distance. Her hand has a loose grip on her stave, old wood that she has no doubt carved herself under the watchful eye and sharp tongue of her mother. Oh it has been many years since Flemeth was ever a name uttered, perhaps a dalliance of Odin - Odin can be loose with his affections, they know that Thor is the son of another, the son of Fjörgyn and Thor has many brothers with blood ties to him that Loki does not share, will never share, still, somehow, somewhere, wants to share. It is not unthinkable that Odin has sired a child with Flemeth, some powerful witch daughter prowling the Wilds and slaying men with a look once she has taken from them what she needs in order to beget more heathen daughters.

He does rather like that touch. A daughter of Odin slaying men once she has had her fill. A pity Flemeth did not think to do the same.

Something is different about Morrigan. She is haughty, almost regal in her bearing, assured in who and what she is and it makes him impossibly jealous as she stalks closer, a good stave's distance between them for she will know that his magic is the stronger of the two but still, there is more. The softness is almost imperceptible to one who has not seen it before and Loki has more than seen it, he has felt it, lived it, he has twisted magic around himself for ice is merely water, solid but for a moment and to change his form is easy. He has changed it many times to do what she does now.

"You are with child."  
  
"An astute observation, you sound much like Alistair. I expected more from you, better." Loki loves his children, Hel, Fenrir, Jörmungandr, Narfi, Sleipnir and Váli. He sees them little. Taken from him. Rage boils, swells and then fizzles out as he composes himself, closing his eyes and taking a quiet breath; it feels as it did in Jötunheimr with Thor, Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, that moment of calm on the other side of the Bifröst.  
  
"I wish you well in this then, no ill will; I would not wish something to happen to you or this son of yours." It brings a surprised, and dare he say it, pleased smile to her face, one slender dark brown arching as he confirms what she must have wondered of. Any ritual can go amiss and it is a son she wants, to keep her child safe from the clutches of Flemeth who obeys no laws of man or magic or beast. Even Loki is not sure what Flemeth truly is.

They are silent for a time. Observing. Morrigan does not open up easily, he can tell but he is in no rush. There will be time enough to find a way to Midgard, to the realm of humans that will be free of Thor and of Asgardian influence with the Bifröst shattered by Mjolnir.

"I...I am glad to have come across you Loki," she begins, "indeed, I find myself ill-equipped; it shames me to speak of it," she continues after a moment of silence save the howling Ferelden wind but she does not even shiver although she is hunched against it, her arms wrapped over her middle, unconscious gesture, one Loki has made himself when he bore his children, wearing a body like Morrigan's. "This child bears the soul of an Old God. And you, Loki, were raised among them, the jötunn smuggled by the almighty Allfather," her voice is condescending around the word, as he thought she might. It is not a hatred of men, nothing so plain or petty for Morrigan, it is that she has not needed one save for this last thing as he is allowed into her personal space where he reaches out to her. His hand touches her abdomen and oh he can feel the pulse of this child already, this child with the soul of an Old God from the Archdemon slain by those Grey Wardens and the song of it, the song that drives the dark things is there, just a tickle to him and to Morrigan, above it all.  
  
"And what," he lets his fingers stretch, palm rubbing a light circle and she does not flinch nor move, "would you have me do?"  
  
"Assist me in raising this child. Teach him alongside me; help prepare him for his destiny." Her pale, slender hand reaches out to his, holding him in place as she smiles. It is a softer smile. A smile Loki again knows from wearing it himself. Trying to gain a friend, an ally. But he was rebuffed.

He will not turn her aside.

"You have lodgings?" He is not truly tired and he does not feel the cold, frost giant's blood running through him but he would sit with her, would hear her tale and her plans.  
  
"Come, tis not far. There is stew on the fire, there is much to discuss." He falls into step with her, smile on his face. Not even Heimdall could find him here. Perhaps she will allow him a hand in the destiny of the son that grows within her with his Darkspawn taint. Oh what a clever, special, talented creature this boy will be, bearing Urthemiel's soul and the magics of two strong witches within him.

Her stew is a hearty meal, filling enough and they talk long into the night, planning, dark heads bent together. She begins to make him a stave, her hands shaping the wood, finding leather and feathers as well as teeth from the great huge wolves that prowl. In turn, he mixes lyrium with ink, a glowing indigo mix as he paints over her belly, around her back and up her shoulders, down and to her breasts, protective symbols and runes, applied every time it begins to fade. They keep one another safe. And when it is time for him to go to Midgard, he knows she will come with him, with their son (because he is the one who will raise and look after this boy, the Grey Warden of no consequence). He cannot wait.


End file.
